


Fast away the old year passes

by limmenel (elevenoclock)



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Art, Christmas, F/M, Post-Apocalypse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:53:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elevenoclock/pseuds/limmenel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-apocalypse. It will be Christmas any day now, she realizes, and can't help but laugh bitterly at the thought. </p><p>An AU written post-Season One for the Heroes Holiday Exchange, for sweetbelle07 on LJ. The artwork at the end is my own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fast away the old year passes

Claire carries the armful of wood into their make-shift camp, sets it down next to the small pit that's been hastily dug out. She itches at the splinters that work their way out of her bare arms, tugs at the worn and ragged t-shirt that she found weeks, months, years ago, and falls to the unyielding ground in exhaustion. It's not safe to have a fire, but they haven't had a hot meal in over a week, and the temperature is dropping lower and lower with each passing day. It will be Christmas any day now, she realizes, and can't help but laugh bitterly at the thought.

"What's on your mind?"

She looks up at Peter, walking over from where he's been talking with Nathan, the two of them like opposite sides of the same coin, so alike but so different. He drops to the ground next to her, far more gracefully then she managed, and she immediately shifts until they're side by side and she can rest her head on his shoulder. 

He repeats the question, and she glances across the beginning flame of the fire, her eyes meeting Matt's and the bitter smile that's reflected in them. She's used to it by now, his picking up on stray thoughts. "It's almost Christmas," she says aloud.

But Peter doesn't laugh. He hasn't laughed in a long time, and it scares Claire that even his optimism can't withstand the horrors they have faced. "I hadn't noticed," he finally says. "The first Christmas since…" He trails off.

They don't speak of it, as though putting words to it would make it more real. No one ever talks about the mushroom cloud that hid the sky over the skyscrapers of Manhattan, or the war that's ravaged the nation, the world. Government against government, but also government against them, the freaks. And freaks against other freaks, Claire thinks, good versus evil, like the X-Men movie she saw ages ago with Jackie. Sylar was the first, and still is one of the worst, but there are others, now, anti-heroes. _Using their powers for evil, not good_ , as Hiro says, and _with great power comes great responsibility_ , Peter and Isaac nodding as he says the words, the triad of comic book geeks.

Isaac is sketching, his back against a tree, using the dim light from the fire. She catches him looking at her and Peter, glancing up occasionally before returning to his art. Not a precog work, she knows, and she's thankful for that because all he ever manages to see lately is horror and death. 

"Do you ever miss being normal?" Claire asks.

Peter doesn't answer for a moment, thinking. "Sometimes," he finally says. "I used to think this would be some kind of adventure, that we would be the heroes, saving the world from evil, adored by all. Special, you know?"

Claire nods, but she doesn't know. She never wanted that, never wanted anything more than to wear the crown at the homecoming dance, to go to college, to grow up and live her life. 

"I never thought it would be like this." He gestures around them, taking in Hiro sitting silently, sharpening his sword, and Micah curled up between DL and Niki, already asleep. "The world is ending around us, and there's not a damn thing we can do to help."

"We can keep going," Claire says. "The world is still here, we saved it. _You_ saved it. ‘Save the cheerleader, save the world'."

Peter's eyes are haunted when he looks at her. "Did I save you, though?" he asks. "I saved your life, but is this really any better? All I did was take you from one hell to another."

She shakes her head sharply, hair flying around her face. "You saved my life," she says vehemently, grabbing his hand and twining their fingers together. "You saved me, and you saved this planet. Do you remember what I told you when we first met in that jail cell?"

He's silent. She didn't expect him to reply, anyways.

"I told you that you were my hero. You are. You're a hero. You may not be flashy in your spandex suit and cape, but you're still a hero."

A shadow of a smile appears on his face when she says this, but the emotion doesn't extend to his eyes, dead except for the fire dancing in reflection. He studies the fire as though it contains all of the answers they're looking for, and Claire studies him. He's no longer the boy she met in Odessa, cheerful and high-spirited; now he's a man, bangs replaced by short-cropped hair, scars crisscrossing his arms, his torso, and his face from when she hadn't been able to get to him in time.

"So, almost Christmas," Peter says after a moment. 

Claire knows that he only mentioned the subject again because he would rather avoid the topic, and she lets him. "Colder here than Odessa," she says. "I remember always wanting a white Christmas when I was a kid, but… Texas, you know?"

Peter nods. "The first time we met," he says. "November, at your homecoming. It was almost winter, but it must have been about eighty degrees outside." A lifetime ago, thirteen months. They're in Kansas right now, or maybe Missouri; not quite Texas, but not New York, either. They're heading towards Monteith, Iowa, on the trail of Sylar. "Might end up with one this year, though."

There was frost on the ground yesterday morning. Claire shivers at the thought; cold is cold, even to her. "You gonna keep me warm?" she asks, the drawl coming out full-force.

And now she gets the laugh: a dry sound, short, but definitely a laugh. His eyes are still dull, but now there's a glimmer of amusement that Claire's found herself missing. "Why, Miss Bennet," he states, mimicking her drawl the way he mimics her powers, "What exactly are you suggesting?"

She leans up to whisper in his ear. The flush on his face has nothing to do with sitting too close to the fire. He stands, pulling her to her feet, a blanket in his other hand, and she glances around their little camp as he leads her into the dense trees surrounding them. Hiro is meditating, DL and Niki asleep around Micah. Matt is studying his hands like they hold the answer to the universal question, and his ears are red. Nathan is gone, scouting from the sky, and Isaac is still drawing. No one is watching them.

 

They wake up the next morning surrounded by a thin layer of frost. The air is cold around them, and the sky is gray with the promise of snow. A piece of paper rustles as Claire shifts beneath the blanket, and she darts a hand out of their cave of warmth to grab it.

The paper is folded once in half. Opening it shows a simple sketch, thick black lines and stark colors. She recognizes the style immediately, and the scribble handwriting at the top. The date catches her eye, and she smiles, sliding the picture to Peter.

"Merry Christmas," he says, kissing her cheek.

Claire smiles, returns the kiss. "Merry Christmas."


End file.
